


Ready or Not

by sifuhotman



Series: Subtle Inarizaki Things [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Defining the Relationship, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29887194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifuhotman/pseuds/sifuhotman
Summary: "Defining a relationship" isn't rocket science. In fact, Suna thinks it's more complicated, and he'd gladly choose rocket science over a DTR talk any day of the week. Labels are too anxiety-inducing and conversations are too awkward, and Suna isn't sure where to start.But with Osamu, he thinks he might be ready to try it.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: Subtle Inarizaki Things [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156646
Comments: 37
Kudos: 219
Collections: SunaOsa, SunaOsa Valentine's Exchange





	Ready or Not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fallen_Ace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallen_Ace/gifts).



> A belated gift as part of the SunaOsa Exchange. Kwon, I hope you like this fluff piece!

The problem isn’t Osamu. Not _really_ , anyway.

It’s Suna’s problem, actually. Suna doesn’t know when he turned into the kind of person to care about labels. He’s never given it much thought; it’s never been relevant. Sure, Suna has dated people before, and sure, he’s had crushes before, lingering in the hallways after class to catch people he’s interested in.

But he’s never dated, the sort of thing where it’s a long term commitment and not just a one-night-stand or unrequited feelings that are never addressed. Where there are expectations, obligations, requirements, unspoken terms and conditions. He’s a twenty-year-old student in university, so it’s not like he’s had a generous amount of time to rack up XP like a Pokemon.

The _real_ problem here is the newest development in Suna’s life: that he’s dating—sort of—Miya Osamu.

They’re on Suna’s bed, watching a movie. Suna’s back is pressed against the wall, and Osamu’s lying down, head resting on Suna’s thighs. Suna likes the weight of his head there. It’s comforting, and he runs his fingers through Osamu’s hair. It’s coarse and thick and familiar to him now, and Osamu sighs with contentment.

It’s been about a month since they started seeing each other. Sometimes Suna marvels at this, how they went from being strangers to acquaintances to slight animosity to tentative friendship to whatever it is they’re doing now. He has to be the luckiest son of a bitch in the world if his fuck ups leading to asking out Osamu weren’t so bad that Osamu completely shunned him.

But he’s also the unluckiest son of a bitch in the world. Because now Suna Rintarou has no idea where to go from here.

Osamu yawns. “I’m gettin’ sleepy, Rin.”

“The movie’s not even halfway done.”

“Yeah. But I’m tired.”

Suna’s hand moves from Osamu’s hair to his chin. He tilts Osamu’s face up and squints at him in the dark. “You’re already tired?”

“I slept late last night.” Osamu yawns again, and he sits up, stretching his arms and neck. His glasses are slightly crooked on his face, thin and round wire frames that emphasize how indisputably attractive he is. Osamu adjusts them so they sit straight on his face. “I’m gonna fall asleep if we keep watchin’. Maybe we can finish it tomorrow?”

Suna hums as he reaches for Osamu, pulling him to his chest. Osamu huffs and nestles his nose into Suna’s collarbone, the narrow strip of skin peeking out from the neck of his shirt. His breath feels warm. “Come over to my place tomorrow night, Rin,” Osamu says. “I’ll make yer favorite instant noodles.”

Suna swallows.

It probably looks like an incredibly tender moment, because Osamu all but melts into him. It is tender. Or, it should be. In reality, Suna’s starting to feel absurdly nervous, how he always does whenever it’s near bedtime and Osamu is still around. The pounding of his chest threatens to choke him and his palms start to get clammy. It’s totally lame.

Suna _hates_ feeling nervous. He doesn’t even get nervous for volleyball games, and he plays on a collegiate national level. Interacting with Osamu before all this never made him nervous, back when Suna picked on Osamu good-naturedly, back when Osamu was still known to him as ‘ _Atsumu’s brother_ ’. Osamu isn’t just Atsumu’s brother anymore. No, he’s so much more than that.

Still, there’s no reason for Suna to get _nervous_ about being around him. In fact, Osamu was the one who’d been wary around Suna at first. Suna’s always been the laid-back guy. The one who’s unbothered—bored, even.

But everything about Osamu sets him off. It drives Suna nuts, from his pinched expressions to his salty sense of humor. From the soft curve of his cheekbones to the velvety way Osamu murmurs _Rin_ whenever he’s trying to get Suna’s attention.

It’s almost disgusting how much Suna has changed from jackass to absolutely fucking whipped. He figures it’s some sort of karma for teasing Atsumu about his unrequited feelings and how pathetic Atsumu had been before finally getting together with Sakusa. It’s either that, or it’s the hundred million other things Suna should claim responsibility for but never has.

Suna isn’t sure if he’ll walk away from this relationship completely intact.

He’s also not sure if this can even be called a relationship.

Either way, Suna is, at least, thankful that casual physical touches have become common between them. The first time he reached for Osamu’s hand, Osamu flinched, but he quickly relaxed. Their fingers fit like they were made for each other.

Hand holding became waist holding, which evolved into cuddling in bed. There is something very, very domestic—and very, very non-platonic—about cuddling while horizontal. It’s like they went from casually seeing each other to _really_ seeing each other.

That’s part of the reason why labels are on his mind, and why Suna hasn’t mustered up the courage to talk to Osamu about it yet. He tells himself he doesn’t need to, that labels aren’t that important to him, but Suna knows it’s a lie.

“You make a good argument,” Suna says. He rests his chin on top of Osamu’s head. Osamu is not a small person. In fact, he’s nearly the same height as Suna, but broader through the shoulders. It’s satisfying to have that sort of weight pressed against his body. “I guess.”

“I gotta wake up early tomorrow, anyway. Gotta proofread a paper before class.”

“Can’t you just stay up late to do it tonight?”

Osamu shakes his head. “Nah. I work better in the mornin’.” He yawns again.

Suna releases him. He doesn’t want to be the reason Osamu stays up too late. For Suna, academics are a formality that he needs to pass in order to maintain his athletic scholarship. For Osamu, academics are his life.

“I’ll walk you back to your dorm,” Suna says.

Osamu finally pushes himself out of Suna’s bed. “You don’t gotta do that. It’s too far.”

“I always walk you, so I don’t know why you always keep insisting I don’t.”

Osamu huffs, but his lips curl up in a gentle smile, and Suna loathes the squeeze in his chest. “It’s late, Rin. I can get back just fine.” Osamu rubs at the nape of his neck. His hair sticks up in odd places, and his eyes track around the room, settling on his belongings wedged between the foot of Suna’s bed and Suna’s bookshelf. “You look like you haven’t slept well in, like, ten days.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“I’m just sayin’. It’d do you some good to get an actual full eight hours.”

“You sure do nag a lot for someone who eats more instant noodles than vegetables these days.”

Osamu scowls. “I’m _workin’_ on it, alright? I’m goin’ grocery shoppin’ soon. Draggin’ Tsumu along with me.”

Suna snorts as he slips on his shoes. Osamu is an ideal dream person to sort-of-date. Atsumu is maybe the worst nightmare type of person to sort-of-date. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

Osamu pulls his bag over his shoulder, not bothering to protest any further, and they slip out of Suna’s room. They pass by Atsumu’s suite on the way out—Osamu crinkles his nose; both of them know Sakusa spends practically every night in Atsumu’s room—and begin making their way to Osamu’s apartment.

Suna likes Osamu’s apartment. He lives about a ten minute walk from the dorms. It’s roomier and in a slightly quieter part of campus, sheltered by trees rather than overlooking noisy streets. Suna remembers the first time he did this walk, when Atsumu had shared Osamu’s contact information and address with him. He’d been nervous then, too.

“So,” Osamu says after a minute of silent walking.

The corners of Suna’s lips quirk up. “So.”

Osamu reaches for him, fingers grazing the bare skin all across the length of Suna’s arm. They trail down to his wrist, lingering on his veins, before settling on Suna’s hand. “I was wonderin’ if you had plans next weekend.”

“Aside from practice?”

“Aside from practice.”

“Mm.” Suna brushes at a fleck of lint caught in Osamu’s hair before pushing it away from his forehead. “No.”

“I get the apartment to myself,” Osamu says. Suna’s eye twitches. Osamu says it too casually. “For once.”

He has no idea how he manages to ask, “Where are your roommates?”

“Kosaku’s home for his sister’s engagement party. Akagi and Gin have some sorta bondin’ event with their nerd club.” Suna nods along. This checks out. Akagi and Gin are both nerds. He doesn’t know what sort of bonding event they’re going to. All he knows is that it leaves a very empty apartment that’s otherwise not empty at all. “I dunno. I wasn’t really listenin’ when they told me.” Osamu leans in a little bit, shoulder pressing into Suna’s. “So. You should come and keep me company.”

Suna thinks he might die.

He tries to say, _Okay, sounds like a plan_ , but it comes out as: “Uh.”

“You don’t hafta stay the whole weekend,” Osamu says, too quickly. They turn the corner of the sidewalk, and Osamu’s apartment complex comes into view. Suna has never wished that the walk would miraculously shrink. “If you don’t wanna. I know you like yer space.”

“I can come over,” Suna blurts. Because what _else_ is he supposed to say? They’ve been ‘together’ for a month now. Going over to each other’s empty apartments over the weekend is to be expected.

There’s the small, glaring fact that Suna and Osamu simply do not ‘ _stay over_ ’ each other’s places. Sure, they’ll spend hours lounging on the couch or the bed or even on the floor sometimes, and they’re comfortable being around one another. But once the clock hits midnight, it’s usually time for them to return back to their respective rooms.

Staying over Osamu’s apartment almost happened a couple of times, but Suna somehow managed to scramble out before Osamu even had a chance to ask him to stay. And whenever Osamu comes over, he excuses himself, too. It’s a weird dance between friends and more-than-friends and respecting each other’s boundaries while also growing a sort-of relationship. Suna’s figured that—when the time’s right—it’ll happen.

They haven’t kissed yet, either. Under usual circumstances, Suna would probably be well past that and maybe even beyond.

Osamu is not a usual circumstance, though. Nothing about where they started and how they got here and where they currently are is _usual_. Suna knows he’s at least partially to blame.

More importantly, Osamu is not the usual type of person Suna would be involved with. Because—and maybe for the first time in his life—Suna really, really likes him.

“Cool,” Osamu says, as if he just asked Suna what he wants to eat for dinner and not if he wants to stay over for the first time like they’re an actual couple. “You can come and go as you want. I ain’t gonna make you stay or kick you out or anythin’. Just—if you get bored. Or lonely. Or if you need somethin’ to do. Y’know?”

Suna nods slowly. He appreciates Osamu’s effort to make things as low-stress and low-stakes as possible, but he’s always on edge. It’s not because he’s worried Osamu will try anything he doesn’t want; it’s because he’s worried he’ll like it too much, and he’ll ask for more in return. More than Osamu is willing to give.

Because, at the end of the day, all Suna wants is to not fuck things up.

They elapse in a comfortable silence. Osamu lets go of Suna’s hand to reach for his keys, and Suna immediately misses the warm contact. “So,” Osamu repeats, and Suna realizes he’s being a completely fucking weirdo by failing to respond to everything Osamu is saying.

“So.” Suna forces a smile. “I’ll text you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’ll get the instant noodles ready for you.”

“Oh no. So much prep.”

“It’s more food prep than you’ve done in yer fuckin’ life, I’ll bet.”

Suna laughs, a real laugh this time, and the hot ribbon of nerves gradually loosens around his chest. He pulls Osamu by the wrist and fits his chin at the solid crook of Osamu’s neck. “Good night, Osamu.”

From an outsider, it probably looks like an incredibly tender moment.

It _is_ tender.

Or, it should be.

But Suna does it to hide the itch he can feel infiltrating his gaze. He knows that this is the part where he’s supposed to kiss Osamu good night. And he wants to. Fuck, does he want to.

“Night, Rin.” Osamu tilts his head back, the back of his skull gently bumping into Suna’s forehead, and Suna releases him. He lifts his hand in a wave as Osamu grins back. Suna waits for him to enter into his apartment complex before turning and heading back to his dormitory.

Suna stuffs his hands in his pockets, cursing the twist in his stomach.

He’s going to Osamu’s place. He will spend a weekend with Osamu. In Osamu’s apartment. _Alone_.

It would probably be the perfect time to finally broach the topic of ‘defining the relationship’ or what the fuck ever.

The thought fills Suna with dread.

This hasn’t happened before. These kind of emotions are both overwhelming and distressing. Suna almost hates these so-called ‘feelings’, but he likes Osamu way too much to be mad about them. He’d been hoping that all of these feelings and thoughts about Osamu and relationships and dating would settle down after a few weeks.

They haven’t. They’ve only amplified since then, and Suna’s stuck lugging it around as he kicks at the gravel on the walk back to his apartment.

For fuck’s sake. Being in a sort-of-relationship with a cute boy who’s interested in you shouldn’t be complicated. It should be as straightforward and easy as changing one’s relationship status from _single_ to _in a relationship_ on Facebook.

Still, for whatever reason, every time Suna considers kissing Osamu, he’s torn between wanting to do it and wanting to stick his head in the ground until the end of time.

It’s complicated, painful, and—above all else—stupid.

In short, Suna has issues.

And the biggest one is Miya Osamu.

* * *

It’s his fault. Osamu tried to kiss him two weeks ago. Osamu had walked him back to the student athlete dormitories at Inarizaki University. His hair was damp from the mist lingering in the air from the rain, and Suna probably stared at him longer than necessary, to the point where Osamu tilted his head and squinted at him. A fine layer of condensation collected on his glasses.

Suna had just turned to say goodbye, when Osamu’s face suddenly pressed up against his. It was reflexive, how Suna tilted his face to the side, and Osamu’s lips pressed against his cheek.

He recalls that Osamu’s lips had been slightly chapped. Cold, from the rain.

The effect was immediate. Osamu jerked back, eyes flying wide. Suna swallowed, and avoided looking at him. He didn’t know how to say that he wanted to kiss Osamu, too, but he didn’t know how to.

“Uh,” Osamu said. “Sorry. Uh. Good night, Rin.”

He’d left shortly thereafter. Suna wishes he’d asked him to stay.

Osamu had texted him, **sorry didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable**. Suna looked at it, sighed, and wished he could kick himself in the ass. Yeah, he gets uncomfortable because of Osamu, but it’s not for the reasons Osamu might think.

He’d responded with a series of memes he’d seen earlier in the day, hoping that it would wash away any potential tension between them. Osamu didn’t seem too bothered and carried on as usual, and Suna was a little jealous that he seemed unfazed.

Since then, Osamu hasn’t tried to kiss him.

Suna almost wishes he would, but he knows better—it’s up to _him_ to make the move. Osamu already made it clear he’s ready for what comes next.

This is not a typical occurrence for Suna. Suna is used to the one stirring up messes and causing trouble and picking fights. He’s used to being five steps ahead of some of the best university volleyball players in the country, and he’s used to the satisfaction that comes with it. He is _not_ used to being so lame that he can’t even kiss his own—whatever Osamu is.

Suna drops into bed the moment he gets back from walking Osamu home. Because of Osamu, he feels like he’s falling behind, and he desperately wants to catch up. He’s not sure why he’s so afraid to.

* * *

> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Hey
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> what
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Are you busy
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> no what do you want
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Can I come over
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> no
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Atsumu I’m coming over
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> what do you WANT omi’s here
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Tell him to get out
> 
> I have to talk to you
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> you can talk about whatever it is you need to talk about
> 
> even if omi’s in the room
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> No tell him to scram
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> SUNARIN WHAT DO YOU WANT
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> It’s about Osamu, okay?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> oh
> 
> okay
> 
> omi has class anyway
> 
> come over in ten

* * *

Suna puts his pride and dignity on the line to seek out some advice. It’s less of the _‘tell me how to fix it’_ advice, and more of the, ‘tell me what the fuck is your brother thinking’ kind of advice.

Atsumu lives down the hall from Suna, though he’s been surprisingly quiet these days. He used to come banging on Suna’s door demanding they go out for lunch, or dinner, or drinks, or volleyball practice. Atsumu is something of a high maintenance kind of friend, but ever since he became preoccupied with dating Sakusa, he’s become a too-busy-with-my-boyfriend kind of friend.

It’s not that Suna minds it at all. The four of them hang out on the rare occasion Atsumu and Sakusa aren’t busy sucking face. Although it’s mostly Suna and Atsumu bickering over which takeout to order and Sakusa and Osamu staring at them with blank looks on their faces.

Atsumu opens the door moments after Suna knocks. He’s wearing a hoodie that is definitely not his.

“What can I do for you, Sunarin?” Atsumu asks. He looks like he’s just woken up. “This is a surprise.”

Suna rolls his eyes at the knowing lilt in Atsumu’s voice as he shoves past. He’s been over Atsumu’s place more times he can count, but he tries to avoid it nowadays. He glances around. “Sakusa isn’t here, right?”

“Nah. I toldja. He just left. He has class.”

Suna heaves a sigh of relief. He doesn’t need other people around to witness his distress. It’s a Friday. Fridays are typically Suna’s favorite days. But today is the exception. “If you tell _anyone_ about this conversation, I am going to flame your ass again on social media.”

Atsumu frowns. “Now that’s just rude.”

“I mean it, Tsumu.”

“What is this about, exactly?” Atsumu sits in the beanbag chair in the corner of his room. Suna takes the chair at Atsumu’s desk, and he bites his lip. Coming here for advice seemed like a good idea ten minutes ago. Now he’s not so sure. “Yer texts are cryptic as hell, Sunarin. You’re lucky I’m so patient.”

Suna snorts. Atsumu is anything but patient.

“It’s about your brother.”

“Yeah. I got that. But I already toldja when you got together.” Atsumu holds his forearms up in an _X_ formation as he shakes his head aggressively. “This is, like, the one thing that’s off boundaries. I’ll tell you again: I ain’t gonna be the middleman between you two. I did my job settin’ you up, and now yer business ain’t my business.”

Suna throws him a dirty look as he fiddles with the drawstring of his sweatshirt. “You’re the one that told me to come over when I said it’s about him.”

“You got that face like somethin’ bad happened. And I ain’t playin’ mediator.” Atsumu reaches to his left side and picks up a volleyball laying forlornly in the corner. He tosses it up and down with easy and slow sets.

Suna traces the movement with his eyesight, finding it strangely calming. “I’m not asking you to play mediator. We’re not fighting.”

“I don’t care. This ain’t my responsibility and I sure as hell won’t get tangled up in whatever you and Samu need to fix out on yer own—”

“Does Osamu talk to you about us?” Suna blurts. He’s desperate to know. He likes Osamu. A lot. And ever since the day Osamu’s uninhibited personality jumped out, he’s wanted to know more about what Osamu’s thinking. The problem is, Osamu is the exact opposite of his twin. Where Atsumu can’t hide what he’s really thinking, Osamu can. “At all?”

“I ain’t sharin’ nothin’ with you. Go ask him yourself.”

“Atsumu.” Suna stares at him flatly. “Please.”

Atsumu frowns. Suna never says ‘please’, at least not to him. He lets the volleyball fall to his lap as he squints at Suna. Unlike Osamu, he refuses to wear glasses. “Why’re you askin’? Did somethin’ happen?”

Suna sighs. He slouches down further in the chair. “You can’t tell _anyone_.”

“What didja do?”

“Why do you automatically assume I did something?”

Atsumu snorts as he pegs the volleyball at Suna, who swats it away. It goes hurtling across the room and slams against the door with a solid thunk. “Have you met yourself?”

Suna heaves another sigh. It’s a fair argument. But the problem here isn’t that Suna did anything. It’s the opposite, actually. He’s done nothing. “Osamu invited me over to his place this weekend. He said it’s completely empty, since his roommates are out.”

Atsumu wrinkles his nose. “Sunarin, I do _not_ need to know when you spend the fuckin’ night at my brother’s place. Too much information.”

“No, no. You don’t get it.” Suna groans in frustration. “Atsumu. That’s the problem. I _haven’t_ spent the night at your brother’s place.”

Atsumu blinks. Once. Twice. Then squints again. “What?”

“We haven’t—it’s not—this is gonna be the first time.”

“Ew, ew, ew, ew. _Sunarin_. I don’t need to know when yer fuckin’ first times are gonna be!”

“Can you stop being a perv? For fuck’s sake. It’s just—” Suna runs a hand through his hair. He definitely shouldn’t have bothered coming here. Atsumu is as useless as ever, making faux-gagging noises. “I’m being serious. I don’t know what to do.”

“Wadaya mean you don’t know what to do? You’re datin’. Isn’t that normal? Omi-kun comes over my place, like, every night. I don’t see what the problem is here.” Atsumu shrugs, then mutters under his breath, “Samu never fuckin’ told me this.” He stands up to retrieve the volleyball before returning to his spot and resuming his easy tosses. “I mean, unless you’re not ready for that, yet. You can tell Samu that. He’s an idiot, but at least he listens.”

“Atsumu.”

“What?”

“We haven’t kissed yet.”

Atsumu startles, and the volleyball hits him in the forehead. He rubs at the spot on his temple and stares at Suna with bewilderment. “Hold up. You haven’t even _kissed_ yet?”

“Can you keep it down?” Suna asks, because even though no one else is around, hearing it out loud is enough to make Suna want to crumble with embarrassment. “He tried to. Two weeks ago. And I—I panicked.”

“Samu never told me this,” Atsumu demands, and he almost sounds annoyed. The annoyance is a welcome alternative to what Suna expected. He’d fully expected Atsumu to just make fun of him for it. “I tell him everythin’! Why didn’t he tell me this?”

Okay. So Osamu hasn’t told Atsumu everything going on—or not going on—between them. Suna can’t decide if this is a good or a bad thing. “So I, uh, need your advice.”

“If you ask me advice on how to kiss my brother, that’s disgustin’ and you’re a pig for ever even considerin’—”

“Fuck _off_. I don’t need advice on how to kiss anyone, thank you very much.” Suna flips Atsumu off. “Least of all from _you_.”

“I ain’t the one datin’ someone for over a month without ever kissin’ them.”

Suna pauses. “Dating? Is that what Osamu says we’re doing?”

Atsumu gives him a weird look. He doesn’t reply right away, but he does tilt his head to the side with an unreadable expression. It’s caught between confusion and disbelief and a twinge of pity. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Sunarin?”

Suna wants to scream in frustration, and he _never_ screams in frustration. He kicks at Atsumu’s bed, wishing he could spontaneously combust right now, because _that_ would certainly be less painful than having to tumultuously overthink everything related to Osamu. “I don’t know! He tried to kiss me, which I’m not _averse_ to, but I panicked and turned my head. He hasn’t tried since.”

Atsumu frowns. “Why didja panic?”

“Because. It was unexpected.”

“Do you really expect someone to give you a three to five business day notice when they’re preparin’ to kiss you?”

“ _No_. Shut up. I don’t even know what Osamu’s thinking half the time.” Once Suna begins rambling, he finds himself unable to stop. “We haven’t talked about if we’re actually dating and how to introduce each other to people we first met. You know the first time I met Kosaku, Osamu called me your _friend_?” Suna shakes his head. “Not even his friend! He called me _your_ friend.”

Atsumu bursts out into a cackle that Suna wants to spike a volleyball into. “Fuckin’ hell. Samu’s a moron.”

“Granted, it was only a week after we started seeing each other. But still. He didn’t even call me his _friend_.”

“Eh, I don’t think he needs to. His roommates all know who you are already. Introducin’ all of you is more of a formality at this point.” Atsumu shrugs. “I’m sure they already give Samu a hard time about finally seein’ someone, so he’s all awkward and shit when you finally met.” Atsumu pops his lips as he pulls out his phone. “Sorry, lemme text Omi-kun real fast.”

Suna waits impatiently as Atsumu shoots off way too many messages. He has no idea how Sakusa puts up with him. Atsumu is annoying in every sense of the word, including how he’s making Suna put his crisis on pause so he can text Sakusa dumb emojis while he’s in class.

“Sorry.” Atsumu shoves his phone back in his pocket and stretches out his legs as he turns his attention back to Suna. “Can we go back to the part where you were askin’ me to define yer relationship for you? Why do you need me to tell you if Samu tells me you’re datin’?”

“ _Because_ ,” Suna says, huffing in frustration. “At this point I can’t even tell if we’re dating. I think we are? But we haven’t talked about it? So I’m bending over backwards trying to nitpick every single fucking thing your brother says or does, and I still come up empty. That’s why I need you to tell me if Osamu tells you that we’re dating. Because if he says we’re dating, then I can say that we’re dating.”

Atsumu’s eyes glaze over. He spaces out in the same way he gets when he’s overwhelmed in a volleyball match. It usually takes the sharp blow of a whistle to bring him back to his senses, but in this case, there’s no court and there’s no whistle. “Uh.”

“Will you quit looking at me like that?”

“I dunno what you want me to say, Sunarin. You’re soundin’ pretty ridiculous right now.” Atsumu rubs at the back of his neck, and Suna decides he’s officially lost it. If Miya Atsumu, of all people, is telling him that he sounds ridiculous, then Suna has _definitely_ gone off the rails. “I think you might be, uh...overthinkin’ it? Maybe?”

Suna groans. He doesn’t need Atsumu to tell him what he already knows. “Thanks for nothing, then. You’re no help.”

“I don’t got an instruction manual detailin’ how to have a relationship talk with my twin brother. That’s somethin’ you gotta figure out.” Atsumu shrugs, and he pushes himself off the beanbag chair to stretch out his back. He twists from side to side before reaching for his toes, humming in consideration while Suna wants to curl up in a ball and perish. “I can tell you this, though—Samu’s pretty slow. He always has been. I’m honestly surprised he kissed you first. He never does.” Atsumu straightens and studies Suna, probably wondering what sort of good Osamu sees in him that would make him want to kiss him.

It’s a valid assessment. Suna hasn’t figured it out, either.

Still, the thought that Osamu doesn’t make the first move is new to him. It’s enough to peel away the embarrassing element of Osamu making the first move on Suna. Suna wishes he’d let him. “So…”

“So just ask him for a relationship, dumbass. You spend most of yer free time together already.” Atsumu puts his hands on his hips and raises a thick eyebrow. “Samu ain’t the type of person to expect you to show up with a bouquet of roses and a five page long confession letter detailin’ the moment you fell in love.” Atsumu pauses as he reconsiders this. “Though if you did, he prolly wouldn’t mind it.”

“I am _not_ going to show up with a bouquet of roses and a five page long confession letter, thanks.”

“Okay. Fine. Just tell him you’re ready to date him.”

“So he hasn’t told you that we’re dating?”

“Sunarin, he hasn’t even told me that you completely rebuffed him tryna smooch you.” Atsumu snickers.

“Fuck _off_ , you prick.”

“Well.” Atsumu laughs again, and Suna shoots him another dirty look. Atsumu waves it away and speaks with the know-it-all voice he puts on every time he talks about volleyball. It’s funny how he likes to think he’s such an expert in relationships even though he and Sakusa have been together as long as Suna and Osamu have been. “It ain’t rocket science. I can tell you that much.”

Yeah, it’s not rocket science, but nothing about Osamu is intuitive. It should be, but it isn’t. What else can explain the somersaults Suna experiences every time Osamu pauses to look at him?

“It’s not rocket science,” Suna repeats. He can do this. He can totally do this. It’s just a talk about labels and then a few awkward kisses and then being in a ‘relationship’ will feel normal to him.

“Yeah. And you’re lucky it ain’t.” Atsumu holds the door open for him. “Cuz you and Samu are the furthest thing from geniuses.”

Suna rolls his eyes before bending over to pick up the volleyball, throwing it at Atsumu. He yelps and shields his face from it, taking a solid hit to the shoulder, before yelling, “Fuck you, Sunarin! You can’t even get my stupid brother to kiss you!”

Suna shoves him to the side as he storms out of the room. His cheeks feel warm, and he stomps back down to his suite. There are about a million things he could say in response to that, but nothing matches the twist in his gut.

He’d been looking for advice, but he hadn’t really gotten any. Atsumu had offered him what he already knew, and Suna hates to admit that Atsumu—who’s known for saying the wrong thing at the wrong place at the wrong time—is right. But it doesn’t matter if Atsumu is right or wrong: at the end of the day, it’s Suna’s responsibility to do something about it.

Suna groans as he flops back into his bed and he hugs a pillow to his chest. There’s a reason he hates being given responsibility for things. But it’s not like he can shove this off to someone else to take care of. His ‘thing’ with Osamu is his, and he has to do something about it. And, yeah, he knows where to start, but—as Suna’s beginning to learn—knowing where to start and actually starting it are two completely different things.

* * *

Suna has discovered a newfound awareness of _emptiness_. Because Osamu’s apartment is very empty. It’s very, very empty. It’s a four bedroom apartment, almost symmetrical in layout. At the center, there are common areas: the kitchen and the living room. Two hallways extend from the center. Two bedrooms and one bathroom on both sides.

He’s familiar with the layout. He’s been here quite a few times over the past month. But it’s _never_ ‘empty.’ Sometimes Akagi will be in the living room, watching Netflix. Other times, Gin will be reheating yesterday’s leftovers in the microwave. And still others, there’ll be Kosaku studying at the dining room table.

He likes Osamu’s apartment. It’s a true college experience. Suna lives in a single-bedroom suite, which means he’s alone most of the time. Though Suna values his privacy, he thinks that there’s something special about sharing an apartment. Even if that means having to bicker over whose turn it is to take out the trash.

As Suna steps into Osamu’s apartment, though, the homey feel he once got from it fades away. He’s left with the deafening silence of none of Osamu’s roommates being around. The previous welcoming environment turns sinister, because although Suna trusts Osamu in the absence of his roommates, Suna isn’t sure that he trusts himself.

“For fuck’s sake, Rin.” Osamu scrunches his nose as he watches Suna slip on a pair of spare slippers in the hallway. Osamu had picked them for him personally when he made a run to the dollar store. They’re cheap and flimsy, but Suna thinks there must be something poignant about Osamu clearing a permanent space for them near the apartment’s entryway. “Aren’t you cold?”

Suna slings off his backpack. He’s come prepared this time, with his toiletries and a spare change of clothes. He tosses it to the side of the couch and collapses on his ass, feeling exhausted from the mental gymnastics he’s done in the past few days. “I’m fine.”

Osamu frowns but doesn’t say anything more about it. He’s always lingered on the bare skin of Suna’s forearms like he’s worried Suna will suddenly wither away into nothing in the chilly Tokyo evenings. “You’re gonna catch a cold one of these days.”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you think you’re cool, or somethin’? Walkin’ around campus in just a t-shirt.” Osamu rolls his eyes, but the smile that dances on his lips is affectionate. “Newsflash, Rin. You look like a fool when you ain’t prepared.”

“I’m fine,” Suna repeats, a little sterner this time, though he doesn’t really mean to be. Suna watches as Osamu cracks two eggs in a frying pan, the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth. The fan over the stovetop whirs aggressively, but Suna watches Osamu’s precise form.

He very much enjoys Osamu’s cooking. He’d like it more if Osamu joined him on the couch, but he’s not about to ask him to, not when he looks like that standing over a fucking frying pan.

“When did your roommates leave?” Suna asks casually. He can totally do casual. It’s his entire brand, and there’s no reason to shift that because of some boy he’s seeing. “It’s weird seeing this place quiet.”

“Kosaku left last night.”

“He didn’t have class today?”

“Nah. Gin and Akagi left, like...an hour ago?” Osamu purses his lips as he adds a bit more oil to the pan. “I’m glad you made it, Rin. It’s kinda creepy when no one else is here.”

Suna laughs to mask how totally uncool his thoughts are right now. He sees Osamu, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, as he adjusts his glasses on his face, staring down at the pan of eggs. There’s a fresh batch of fried rice waiting for them, but Osamu never rushes the process. Not with anything, and definitely not with cooking. It’s something Suna admires about him, though he’s not quite sure how to say it.

He stands and ambles over to where Osamu is, hesitating just a moment before wrapping his arms around Osamu’s waist. Osamu stiffens for a fleeting moment before relaxing in Suna’s arms.

“Thanks for inviting me over,” Suna says calmly, though his chest betrays him. He places his palms flat against Osamu’s waist and Osamu sighs, content, but he doesn’t lean back to the touch. He’s too focused on the eggs in front of him. “Even if it _is_ a bit of a ghost town here.”

“I know. I don’t remember the last time my roommates dipped out for more than a couple hours.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Hell, no. I grew up without privacy, Rin. You know how Atsumu is.” Suna snorts as he digs his chin into Osamu’s shoulder. “Every private moment you can get yer hands on? Now, that’s a blessin’.”

“I guess.”

“Besides.” Osamu shakes the pan and flips the eggs with one easy flick of his wrist. He sets it back down on the stovetop and turns his head to look Suna dead in the eyes. “Peace and quiet for once—that’s nice, don’t you think?”

Suna swallows. Yeah, it’s nice to be able to spend time with Osamu and not worry about being interrupted. But it’s also kind of terrifying.

He doesn’t respond. The familiar sensation of dread crawls its way back into his limbs, chipping away at his bones and any strong self-confidence Suna has thought he had. He rests his forehead at the back of Osamu’s neck, hoping it’ll give him a peace of mind that he’s been desperately craving, but Suna is disappointed to find that that’s not the case.

He’s still panicking. And he’s still clueless. Especially with Osamu’s back pressed against his check.

And _especially_ when Osamu kills the heat of the stove top, sets down his chopsticks, and turns around. Osamu looks at Suna, heavy-lidded and firm, as his hands come to rest on Suna’s shoulders. He doesn’t look _annoyed_ , per say, but there’s something absolutely unreadable about his expression.

Suna thinks back to when Osamu tried to kiss him the first time. He’d given him the same look. It’s both permission and demand, and Suna hasn’t figured out if he’s okay with obeying either yet.

He forces a quiet, “Yes,” because peace and quiet _is_ nice. It’s the butterflies that aren’t nice, the ones that pin Suna down in place every time Osamu pauses to look at him.

Atsumu had told him that it’s not rocket science. In fact, Suna thinks it’s more complicated, and he’d choose rocket science over defining the relationship any day of the week.

“Rin?” Osamu asks. He presses the tip of his index finger under Suna’s chin and tilts his face so he’s forced to look Osamu back in the eyes. It would be so _easy_ , leaning in and kissing Osamu right now. So why doesn’t he? “Are you feelin’ okay? You keep on spacin’ out on me.”

Suna clears his throat. The smell of fried eggs and stir fried rice fills his senses, and he steps away to try and gather himself. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure everythin’ is okay? You’re actin’ a bit…” Osamu falters. “Strange.”

“Sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

Osamu nods absentmindedly as he begins rummaging through the cupboards for tableware. He pulls out identical bowls, and Suna’s panic dissolves, at least momentarily. He watches Osamu distribute equal portions of fried rice, delicately placing fried eggs on top.

It’s not a complicated meal and nothing about his presentation and cooking is outstanding, but Suna’s heart squeezes.

And as Osamu turns with a wide smile across his face, carrying two steaming bowls of fried rice with runny eggs on top, Suna wishes he could just skip the awkward relationship talk and get straight to the good stuff. The good stuff where he can pull Osamu into the narrow gaps between academic buildings for a quick kiss, or have lazy Sunday mornings where they make out in bed during cartoon commercial breaks.

Or even just using the word _boyfriend_ when introducing him, rather than fumbling for some other word that can be used to explain exactly who Osamu is to him.

He wants it. And it kills him that he’s stuck panicking over this. But there’s nothing else he can do.

So instead, Suna accepts the bowl of rice with two hands, offers a small smile, says, “Thank you,” and tries to ignore the murmur in his chest that demands answers he’s not yet ready to hear.

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> have you stopped being a chicken yet
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Fuck OFF Atsumu
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> so the answer is no
> 
> HAH
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Don’t you have a boyfriend to go be whipped over
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> you know what’s worse than being whipped for your bf
> 
> being whipped for your not-bf
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> I’m blocking you
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> OH HOW THE TABLES HAVE TURNED
> 
> i told you samu’s a dumbass
> 
> just be direct with him
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Osamu is way smarter than you are, thanks
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> EXCUSE me who’s the one that hasn’t even been SMOOCHED yet?????
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> …
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> yeah that what i thought BITCH
> 
> anyway
> 
> gtg now and smooch my real-bf
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> I literally hate you so much
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> jealousy ain’t a good look sunarin

* * *

A distinct problem arises when Suna comes out of the shower.

“I’ll be out in ten,” Osamu says as he passes by, squeezing Suna’s elbow before letting go. His fingers are cold against Suna’s warm skin. “Make yourself comfy.”

Suna is then left alone in Osamu’s bedroom with the soft clicking of the clock on the wall—counting the seconds as they pass, counting the time he has before bedtime.

He swallows.

Dinner had gone fine. They talked like they usually talk, and Suna had cleared the table and washed the dishes in an effort to relieve Osamu from half of the work that comes with preparing a meal. It was a welcome distraction from the knots in his stomach. He found it useful to have something to do with his hands, lathering the soap, scraping at the rice stuck to the surface. In fact, Suna probably washed these two bowls better than he’s washed any dish in his entire life, all for the sake of trying not to notice Osamu’s piercing gaze staring him down. 

The movie that had followed was worse. Suna sat on the far end of the couch. He couldn’t even bring himself to sit near Osamu. It was embarrassing. _Suna_ is embarrassing.

It’s a wonder that Osamu hadn’t kicked him out yet. Suna almost wishes he would.

The shower was the smallest sliver of relief. As Suna stood under the steam, beads of water trailing down his shoulders the same way he desperately wanted to trace Osamu’s, Suna chastised himself. Osamu is a nice guy. All he has to do was bring up the label thing and explain why Suna had dodged Osamu’s attempt at kissing him. Osamu would understand.

Suna sits on Osamu’s bed. The cheap university-issued mattress groans under his weight, and the comforter feels soft under his palms. If Suna leans down, he can smell Osamu’s laundry detergent.

Then, of course, Suna starts thinking about the fact that this is Osamu’s bed, and sitting here waiting to sleep feels too presumptuous of him. He quickly stands up to sit at the desk. But _that_ starts to feel too weird. Formal, even. So Suna gets off the chair. He wonders if sitting on the floor is a viable option, but it strikes him that if he walked into his room to find Osamu sitting in the middle of his floor, he’d probably think Osamu has officially lost it. But also, maybe it’s not that weird if he sits on the ground.

No. That's not true, either. Everything Suna says and done is weird right now, all because he can’t have a normal fucking conversation like a normal fucking human being.

He’s caught somewhere in this dilemma—about where to sit to wait for Osamu—when he’s suddenly jerked out of it and placed back into reality. “Rin?”

Suna turns from his spot squatting into a crouch in the middle of Osamu’s room. “Oh. You’re out already.”

Osamu tilts his head as he squints at Suna. “Wadaya doin’ on the floor?”

“I was just—uh. I was stretching out my hip flexors.”

“Huh. Okay.” Osamu gently places his glasses onto his desk. Suna likes him with glasses, but there’s something strangely special about seeing Osamu without them. “Are you feelin’ okay?”

“I’m fine. Why?”

Osamu hums as he ruffles his hair with his towel. His lips are pulled into a small pout as he squints at Suna.

Suna’s skin erupts with goosebumps. He stands back up again, careful not to stand too close to Osamu. His mouth fails him—when he opens it, nothing comes out.

On the inside, he’s screaming internally. But Osamu doesn’t hear any of that, and he doesn’t seem to notice it, either, because he drapes his towel on the back of his chair and climbs onto the bed. He settles himself under the covers, giving the pillow a few extra pats.

Osamu glances over and blinks. “Rin? Are you joinin’?”

“Oh. Yeah. I’m—yeah.” Suna almost wants to suggest that they watch another movie, because then he could at least pretend to fall asleep during it to avoid any awkward conversations. But Osamu is already yawning, and Suna feels bad keeping him up any longer.

“Wouldja mind turnin’ off the light?” Osamu asks.

“Yes. I mean. No. No, I don’t mind. I’ll—I can turn off the light. Let me do that.” Suna shuffles over to the light switch by the door and flicks it off. He’s suddenly hyperaware, once again, that the apartment is absolutely silent. Usually there’s at least the muffled sound of the television through the walls, but this time, radio silence echoes back at him.

Suna inches over to the mattress, lifts up the blanket, and slides under. He makes sure to keep plenty of space between him and Osamu, shoulder practically falling off the edge of the bed, and he lies on his back like a corpse settling into its coffin. The mattress is a little tight for the two of them, and his elbow brushes against Osamu’s as he tries to adjust.

It’s silent for a few minutes. Or maybe a few hours. Suna has no idea what Osamu’s thinking, and he desperately wishes he knew, because right now, he can’t even hear Osamu breathing.

He can, however, feel his heart racing in his chest.

“Rin?”

Suna pauses. “Yeah?”

“Are you comfortable?”

No. He’s not comfortable. In order to make enough room for Osamu, Suna has to tighten his shoulders and arms closer to his body. He’s a chronic spreader when he sleeps. The most offensive thing he can do is take up too much space. “I’m fine.”

“You can move closer if you want.” Osamu’s fingers meet his elbow again, and he tugs him a little closer. Suna resists, but only a little, because it turns out his body loses its strength every time Osamu comes in contact with it.

“Okay.”

“I’m used to my small mattress back at home,” Osamu says. “You don’t gotta worry about makin’ room for me.”

“Okay.”

“You got enough blanket?”

“Yeah.” Suna omits the fact that his body is on fire and that he feels like he’s going to burn a hole through the thick comforter. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Osamu pauses. His fingers trace along the veins in Suna’s arm mindlessly, a flutter against his skin. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Yeah?”

Suna hears the distinct sound of sheets ruffling, the squeak and dip of the mattress as Osamu rolls onto his side. He props himself up with one elbow, and Suna can see his silhouette out of the corner of his eye. If he turned to look at him, he’s sure he’d see Osamu staring back with the same focus and attention Osamu always gives him. “Didja feel pressured to stay over tonight?”

Suna lets out a garbled, “What?” that sounds more like a sharp gasp than anything.

“You can be honest with me. I ain’t gonna be offended or nothin’. I know we’ve been takin’ things slow—”

Too slow, actually. But Suna’s the reason why they’re moving slowly. So it’s not like Suna even has the right to be frustrated.

“—and I know you like havin’ yer space—”

Yes, but Suna knows full well that Osamu is welcome into any space he fits into in Suna’s life. He just can’t articulate it, not with how Osamu’s thumb runs soothing circles on the back of his hand.

“—so if you don’t feel comfortable, or if you want me to take the couch tonight or somethin’—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Suna finally blurts, and he cringes at how uncool it sounds. “I don’t feel pressured, Osamu. I don’t want you to sleep on the couch.”

Osamu laughs a breathy sigh of relief, but he doesn’t move from his position. Instead, he moves his hand to rest a palm on Suna’s cheek, gently guiding it towards him. Suna allows it, only because it’s dark enough that he can’t see Osamu’s features. He’s sure he’ll die if that were the case. “Can I ask you somethin’ else?”

Suna’s reply is shakier than he wants it to be. “Anything you want.”

There’s a pause. “Is there a reason you don’t wanna kiss me?”

The silence that follows is deafening. Suna is a little stunned that Osamu is the one to bring it up first, but he’s more stunned that he can’t bring himself to give a solid answer.

Despite all the manufactured explanations he’s thought of, and despite all the overthinking he’s done, the most brilliant response Suna can come up with in the moment is: “Um.”

“It’s not that I care that much,” Osamu says, but the words are too rushed to be the full truth. “I mean, I do wanna kiss you, but if you’re not ready for it, I get it. Y’know? I just wanna know if there’s anythin’ wrong I did or said or if you have some sort of—if there’s something you’re waitin’ for.”

“I’m not—it’s not like—no.” Suna’s words come out disjointed as sirens go off in his head. He licks his lips and tries to regain focus on Osamu as his vision adjusts to the dark, as he sees Osamu lean in a little bit, head tilted, eyes curious and glinting. His throat tightens.

He’s never been like this. Suna has never been the type of person to second guess himself; he’s always been laid-back, the type of person to go with the flow.

But seeing Osamu—no, not just seeing him, but feeling him in bed next to Suna, one thumb tracing the outside of Suna’s jaw, it’s enough to make Suna second guess everything he ever knew about Osamu and himself.

“You make me nervous,” Suna blurts.

“Nervous?” Osamu’s voice cracks in the middle of the word. “I make you nervous?”

Suna’s lower lip trembles, and he bites down on it as he nods before remembering that Osamu can’t see him very well. “Yeah. You make me nervous.”

“Why do I make you nervous?”

And just like that, the dam Suna has locked himself behind breaks and the words come flying out like a torpedo. “You’re not doing anything wrong—fuck, no. You could never do anything wrong. I know we’re kind of, um, seeing each other, and that it’s not like we have to tiptoe around each other, and that we’ve been seeing each other for, like, a month, but...I just panic? I guess? Whenever you’re around. And I don’t really _do_ the panic thing, and it freaks me out, because I know it’s only around and it’s only ever been around you. And I’ve never felt this way about someone before, and it makes me…” Suna swallows when Osamu’s finger pokes at his hip. “Nervous.”

There’s another pause that balloons in the room. Suna would smack himself in the forehead if he weren’t paralyzed in place as the words sink in. He holds his breath.

“Rin, you never told me you get nervous.”

“I don’t. I mean, usually I don’t. But—” Suna’s breath catches when Osamu presses closer, his torso nudging at the top of Suna’s body as he hovers over him. “I don’t want to mess up.”

“You hide it well. Bein’ nervous.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah. I thought you just didn’t wanna kiss me. Not cuz you were too nervous to kiss me.” Osamu hums in consideration as he brushes stray hairs off of Suna’s forehead. Suna closes his eyes and tries to still his chest to the rhythm of the soothing strokes. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

“Of course I have.”

“Then why’re you nervous? It ain’t like it’s yer first kiss.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s not my first kiss. It’s my first time kissing you.”

“Okay.” 

“I wanna kiss you. I’m just nervous.”

“Rin?”

“Yeah?”

Before Suna’s even aware of what’s happening, one of Osamu’s arms comes around on the other side of Suna’s head as he props himself up, and he dips his head down to press his mouth against Suna’s.

It’s chaste and a little too abrupt so that Suna can feel the sensation against his teeth. Suna’s mind and body choke, but it’s over too soon for him to have a chance to respond.

“There,” Osamu says as he pulls back. There’s a note of satisfaction ringing in his voice, but he still hangs over Suna’s face. The dim light creeping in through the window illuminates his eyes, which crinkle with affection. “That was our first kiss. Now you got nothin’ to worry about.”

Suna swallows as his heart refuses to still, and he exhales shakily. “Right.”

“Kind of a shitty first kiss if you ask me.” Osamu laughs breathlessly with the gentle kindness Suna knows he could seriously fall in love with. “So. You don’t gotta think too much about things. Shitty first kiss means that anythin’ else will be better.”

“It will?”

“Yes.”

Suna finally brings himself to move. He lifts his right hand and presses it flush against Osamu’s neck, and he can hear Osamu’s breath hitch slightly. Underneath his palm, Suna can feel the faintest pulse that moves as erratically as Suna’s heart does.

“Osamu,” Suna says. He’s almost afraid of speaking, though he can’t imagine why. “Your heart’s racing.”

“‘Course it is. I’m nervous as hell aroundja, too. That’s why you panickin’ is doubly stupid.” Osamu lightly taps his forehead against Suna’s, breath fanning over Suna’s face, smelling like toothpaste. “So wouldja stop panickin’ and just kiss me already?”

“Osamu.”

“What?”

With full permission granted—and one mediocre smooch from Osamu—Suna pulls Osamu down to kiss him, for real this time. He forgets the awkward conversations and moments and trails of thoughts that have led up to this, and he indulges in the fact that Osamu’s lips feel as full as they look.

It takes mere seconds for Suna’s head to go spiraling into orbit, around and around none other than Miya Osamu. He doesn’t remember the last time someone had this kind of effect on him, where every press against his tongue and every pull at his lips had his body scrambling for more.

Suna swallows down the nagging voice that tries to make him calculate the best way to kiss Osamu and instead lets Osamu kiss him. It’s easier this way, Suna decides, letting Osamu take the lead. He guides Suna into an rhythm, where Osamu shields the overwhelming anticipation for more by giving Suna enough to be satisfied with what he has now.

Osamu—shy, reserved Osamu—kisses with earnestness that Suna has never known. It’s enough to make Suna’s heart shatter with relief and blossom with an unrelenting hunger. He begins to realize that maybe the panicked feelings that have been rattling in his chest aren’t panic, after all.

Because as Osamu breaks the kiss, as he pulls away just enough that he can gaze down at Suna’s face, a hybrid of panic and elation crawls its way through Suna’s entire body.

It’s not panic, he realizes. It’s passion, and it’s as unfamiliar and gut-wrenching as panic might be, but it’s so, so much better.

Osamu’s lips brush against Suna’s as he breathes heavily, and he murmurs, “You’re a good kisser, Rin. I dunno know why you’re freakin’ out.”

Suna’s face heats, and he tugs at Osamu’s hair playfully. “Now you’re just making fun of me.”

“I’m tryin’ to help you relax.”

“By making fun of me?”

“Yes. Is it working?”

Suna laughs and finds that, yes, it _is_ working, and the hot coil of self-doubt melts away the longer he stares into Osamu’s eyes and finds him smiling back at him. “So.” He pauses again, because he knows there’s one more thing he has to ask, and with Osamu peering down at him, it hits him: he has nothing to be afraid of.

“So,” Osamu repeats.

“So...are we dating?”

“What?”

“Are we—you know. Dating. Together. Boyfriends.” Suna licks his lips. “A couple.”

Osamu gives him a funny look of disbelief, and he says, “What do _you_ think we’re doing?”

“I don’t know! We never talked about—”

“My god, Rin.” Osamu breaks into laughter that would be excruciatingly humiliating if it weren’t so adorable. “You’re a fuckin’ moron. Of course we’re datin’. What else would it be?”

“We didn’t really talk about what it was. I didn’t know what to—you introduced me as Atsumu’s friend to one of your roommates. What was I supposed to think?”

Osamu laughs again and presses another quick kiss on Suna’s lips, followed by a peck on the tip of his nose. “I guess I panic, too.”

“You don’t have to panic,” Suna says.

The corner of Osamu’s mouth lifts up. “I don’t?”

“No.” Suna pushes himself up the bed and Osamu makes room for him as he sits up. He feels lightheaded from the sudden movement, but he ignores it and reaches blindly for Osamu as he scuffles backwards. His back hits the wall and he unceremoniously pulls Osamu onto his lap, finding that itch of greed that asks for more than he’s already been given.

No—not greed. Passion.

Osamu takes Suna’s face in both his hands. Suna relaxes into the touch, closes his eyes, and focuses on how Osamu’s fingers trace the dip of his cheekbones. “I’ll just hafta kiss you enough that you stop panickin’, Rin.” He presses his lips delicately against Suna’s once more. “But don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

Suna’s throat tightens. He has a lot to say to that, but words fail him once more.

If this is going to be a usual occurrence, and Osamu’s going to fix himself into a permanent place in Suna’s life, then Suna supposes he’ll have to get used to it. He’ll have to get used to flashes of his sensibility falling apart that Osamu picks up and pieces together with calming smiles, followed by his palms breaking out in clammy sweat remedied by Osamu intertwining his fingers with Suna’s. He’ll have to get used to letting Osamu cook for him and forcing Osamu to move aside so Suna can do the dishes, and he’ll have to get used to bursts of affection so strong he feels like he’s in a chokehold, only to be pried out of it by Osamu murmuring _Rin_ into Suna’s ear.

This whole relationship thing is uncharted territory to him, so it’s a lot to process. It threatens to pull him under a sea of _what if_ s and _if then_ s, and Suna fears that he’ll drown trying to navigate it himself. But in a startling realization, Suna recognizes that he’s been ready since the first day Osamu caught his eye, since that first move he made asking Osamu out.

Because when all else fails, tongue bubbling with words left unsaid, Suna opens his eyes and sees Osamu beaming back at him with inexplicable warmth and tenderness, reassuring Suna that Osamu will be with him, every step of the way.

**Author's Note:**

> My S/O asked me into a longterm relationship with that: "so...are we dating?" Art imitates life.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/ginjimahitoshi)


End file.
